


Retribution

by NifflersNogtailsNargles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Auror Hermione Granger, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Healer Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NifflersNogtailsNargles/pseuds/NifflersNogtailsNargles
Summary: Single, successful and mostly recovered from the war, Senior Auror Hermione Granger is determined to solve the string of disappearances plaguing the wizarding world. When one of the missing turns up dead, its a race against the clock to save the others. But why are these men being targeted? And why is the killer leaving cryptic notes addressed to Draco Malfoy of all people?
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Bad Days

Chapter 1: Bad Days

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any part, the characters and the HP universe all still belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. Last I checked. * sighs in disappointment ***

**A/N: So I was working on this piece for a fest I'm not able to take part in anymore, but I decided to post it anyway. I have a couple of chapters written up and I'll be working on it when I need a break from SASC. It's a Dramione, murder mystery type story with an Auror Hermione and Healer Draco. I hope you all enjoy it!**

“What time will you be done with the client do you think?”

He drank in the sight of his beautiful wife as she bounced their one-year old son on her hip, whipping up pancakes for his older twin daughters, all the while managing to keep up a conversation and looking damn good doing it. He could barely keep the three kids from destroying the manor when he was left to look after them, never mind doing anything else. She was his fucking hero, and he felt lucky to have his family every minute of every day. After everything he had done, Merlin knew that he didn't deserve them.

“Not too late, I should be done by five” He felt a stab of guilt at the lie as he ran a hand through his smooth chestnut locks, but kept his face firmly in check. _I'm doing this for them,_ he reminded himself for what must have been the thousandth time that day.

“Okay that's great. Well I've got to drop the kids off at Mum's and then I'm off to check on the shop for a few hours, but be home at five thirty sharp, I'm making your favourite for tea!”

“Wonderful, you are far too good to me you know” He stood up as he said this, making his way over to the love of his life. He gathered her up into his arms and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to sear their shape and feel onto his memory. He then gently stroked his sons dark hair, so like his own, and planted a small kiss to his forehead.

“I know, you're so lucky to have me” she teased as she pulled away, dopey grin across her face.

_I am, I'm so sorry, I love you, forgive me._ He didn't voice these thoughts, but instead flashed her a warm smile as he turned to his girls.

“Astrid, Aurelia, come give Dad a hug eh?” He felt his heart break as the two toddlers came running towards him as fast as their chubby little legs could carry them, identical strawberry blonde curls bouncing as they went. He scooped them up, one in each arm, taking a deep breath as they each threw their arms around his neck and giggled.

“Okay you two, be good for Nana, and look after your brother, he's only little so it's your job to keep him out of trouble.”

“We can do it Daddy” said Astrid with a confident nod of her head, her tone as solemn as any four-year old could muster. Aurelia, ever the quiet one, just nodded and smiled sweetly as she snuggled further into his shoulder.

“I know you can, my clever girls.” He placed them back down and watched wistfully as they ran back over to their small table at the other side of the kitchen where their favourite blueberry pancakes waited for them.

“Sweetheart? Hadn't you better be going before you're late?”

“Yeah. I best be off.” He hoped that she hadn't heard the wobble in his voice as he swallowed down the hard lump in his throat.

He took one last look at his wife's cheery wave, his sons happy babble and the sticky, syrup covered faces of his daughters as they blew him a kiss, before he sharply turned and walked away.

He turned down the corridor that lead away from the kitchen and towards the large study that contained his private floo, polished shoes clicking mockingly at him as he went. He noted the luxury that surrounded him with disinterest. Although he loved this room, with its warm wooden fixtures and its plushy green armchair and its veritable mountain of books, he wouldn't miss it even a fraction as much as he would the four people he had just left behind him. With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he grabbed the suitcase he had stashed behind the largest bookcase a week before, walked towards the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of green flames.

~.~.~

Draco Malfoy was having a _bad day._ Not just bad in fact, but a supremely awful, headache inducing, horrible day.

First he had woken up late, in his freezing cold and painfully empty bedroom, with the mother of all hangovers and a strange redhead in his bed.

Fucking Zabini. _Let's go to a muggle club,_ he said, _it'll be a right laugh,_ he said. Bastard. Muggle liquor, as it turned out, was much stronger than its magical counterpart. Bloody brilliant selection though.

_Tap.Tap.Tap_

“What the fuck! Is that an owl at your window? Carrying a _letter?_ ”

_Oh good, the muggle is awake,_ he thought snarkily.

“Don't worry about it love. Listen erm...?” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he walked over to the window to retrieve the owl and stop it's incessant tapping. He couldn't believe he'd brought a woman back to his flat, shagged her, and now he couldn't remember her name. Well, he couldn't believe he'd done it _again_. Especially when he had promised himself after last time that it would be the very last one.

“Lisa” The girl supplied happily, thankfully not offended by his lapse in memory.

“Right, Lisa. Well I don't know if I said last night, but I have to work today and-”

“No worries Drake” He cringed at the crude muggle name, watching as she jumped up out of bed, clearly not shy about her nakedness. “I have an early lecture anyway. Thanks for the shag, it was fun, I'll leave you my number on the side table in case you ever want to do it again sometime.”

_Maybe I will,_ He smirked to himself, previous promise instantly forgotten as he surreptitiously eyed her perky breasts and toned stomach as she pulled on her jeans. He was impressed that she didn't seem to want to hang around and swap life stories like they usually did. He always felt like such a prick when he had to show them out, but he wasn't about to leave any misconceptions that their dalliance would be anything more than a one night affair. This one seemed just as keen to move on with her life as he was, and the sex was more than decent from what he remembered. Very.... enthusiastic.

Yes, he may very well give Lisa the Muggle a call sometime soon. He chuckled internally at the thought, his father would be rolling over in his grave if he knew. Possessing a muggle mobile phone in the first place would be more than enough to disown him, but using said phone to arrange premarital sex with a muggle girl? A hanging offence, surely.

Cheered by the thought, he waved Lisa off with a smile and proceeded to rush through his morning ablutions, as he was now forty five minutes behind schedule, and the chances of him making his first appointment on time were slim to none. After applying a quick but careful drying charm to his hair and donning his least favourite grey suit - _he really had to remind Romilda to pick up his dry cleaning today -_ he grabbed a strong black coffee in a to-go mug, downed a headache relief potion and stuffed the letter he had received into his pocket to read when he had time.

A quick _Tempus_ charm confirmed that by some miracle he had five minutes to spare until his first client showed up. With a sigh of relief, he turned on one heel, apparating into his office with a soft popping sound. He had always loved his office. It was bright and airy; all white walls except the one opposite the door which was floor to ceiling windows. His desk, made of solid, sturdy oak wood, was large enough to spread out five or six tomes at a time. His desk chair was a soft grey wingback, with wheels for manoeuvrability, the seat opposite him was in a similar style, only smaller and without the added wheels. Behind him sat an entire wall of bookshelves done in the same style as the desk, and there were cheerful green plants dotted throughout the large space courtesy of his assistant Romilda.

The best part of the office though, was the larger seating area just a ways down from his desk, closer to the window. This was his favourite place because this is where he got to do the job that he loved. He got to heal people, to help them work through their issues and eventually learn how to heal themselves. People had been shocked when he'd chosen to specialise in Mind Healing after he had gotten his original Healer's qualifications, but this is where he'd always known he wanted to be. After all the money his mother had dropped on Mind Healers for him after the war, Merlin knows he was something of an expert before he ever started the training.

_Draco,_

_How you feeling? Muggle booze is the devil, my mouth tastes like something shit in it, and I'm half convinced there's a yeti dancing on my head! Great night yeah?_

_Oh, and I saw you leave with that redhead last night you little tart. Nice one._

_Love and Kisses,_

_Dead Man Walking (A.K.A Blaise Zabini, love of your life)_

Draco snorted loudly, used to the antics of his best friend but amused by them nonetheless. He folded up the letter before tapping his wand to the arm of his chair, letting Romy know that he was ready for his first client of the day. That's when everything had truly gone tits up; his first client accidentally spilled his still boiling hot coffee into his lap while reaching for a tissue while his second client wasn't in a talkative mood and decided to make his displeasure known by throwing a tooth growing hex at his head. To put the cherry on top of an already spectacular day, he found out that one of his long term clients had been admitted to St. Mungo's for a seemingly deliberate potions overdose. It felt like every time he made progress with this girl, she would go and do something to prove him wrong. But he would persevere, as long as she kept showing up and doing the work then so would he.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, the last of Draco's long term clients had been dealt with and sent home. He was tense and angry, and frankly could do with some stress relief. Grabbing his coat as he headed towards the floo, too wound up to apparate, he was thinking about calling Lisa-the-muggle for another round when all of a sudden green flames shot up, and a familiar face greeted him from the fireplace.

“Tracey? What's wrong?”

“Draco, have you seen Theo today?” He frowned in concern at her tone, her usually cheerful voice laced with tension and, if he were reading her correctly, panic.

“No, sorry I haven't seen him since we had lunch on Monday. Why, what's going on?”

“He was supposed to be at work until five but I floo-called his office and they said he never made it in, and he's still not back. Theo's missing”

His stomach collapsed. There had been too many disappearances lately, and not enough of them were turning back up. His bad day had just gotten infinitely worse.

“Okay, we'll figure this out,” he assured her, sounding far more confident than he felt, “Step back I'm coming through”

~,~,~

“-told you Malfoy, there's not enough to go on!”

“Bullshit, Potter! I know Theo, he wouldn't just walk out on his family! Something isn't _right_ here. What about the others? Flint and-”

“We're looking into those disappearances, but they're not the same! I'm telling you Malfoy, _for the millionth fucking time,_ all of the evidence points to Nott leaving of his own accord.”

“It's been three months! If he left on his own, why isn't he back yet?”

Hermione sighed in annoyance as she heard the raised voices on the other side of the office door as she approached. _Honestly, hadn't they ever heard of silencing charms?_ She hoped Harry hadn't asked her to his office just to listen to another one of his lovers spats with Malfoy, because the entire DMLE were getting sick of hearing them by now.

She raised one calloused hand to knock on the heavy door twice before turning the handle and strolling in. The scene she found was almost comical. _Almost._ The clear look of anguish on Malfoy's face stopped any thoughts of laughter before they could even begin. Both men were standing virtually toe to toe, Harry's face bright red with anger, chest heaving. Malfoy on the other hand just looked deranged, emerald green tie hanging loose, strands of uncharacteristically messy hair falling into his face, dark circles under his eyes clearly illustrating that he was having trouble sleeping.

“Oh for God's sake, I thought I left this shite behind when we left Hogwarts!” Hermione huffed, startling the two men who had clearly been too engrossed in their staring contest to hear her knocking.

Harry had the good sense to look sheepish, offering her an apologetic smile which she accepted with a small one of her own. After so many years of friendship they hardly needed words to communicate. Malfoy, on the other hand, just stared at her stupidly.

“What?” she snapped, not in to mood to try to interpret the inner workings of Draco Malfoy.

“Your clothes,” he blurted out loudly, eyes widening slightly as if he had no control over the words that came tumbling out of his mouth, “I mean, they're not, I-I mean … _Merlin_ Granger. _”_

“I was in the field Malfoy!” she snapped defensively, gesturing emphatically towards her Auror grade leathers, “Not a fucking fashion show. What did you expect, a pretty pink dress?”

It was true, after the war the old red robes for Senior Aurors were discarded in favour of more practical protective gear, now only to be brought out for ceremonial purposes. Better late than never, she supposed. Unlike before though, there was no specific uniform for field work, as long as the dragon hide was Auror grade and kept you fully covered, you could wear what you liked. Only Junior Aurors and trainees still had to wear the old uniform so that they could easily be identified by the public. The new freedom of choice had made for some extremely strange sartorial selections amongst the Senior Auror ranks..

Hermione though, had taken the practical approach as always. Her leathers were all-black, the jacket, leggings and knee high combat boots all made from the hide of a Hungarian Horntail. The boots contained a hidden compartment where she kept a spare knife in case she ever found herself wandless. Her left pocket had a handy, only slightly illegal Undetectable Extension Charm placed on it, and she had all manner of emergency supplies stashed inside, never wanting to be caught unprepared again like she had that year on the run. She wore her wand strapped to her right forearm, ready to be drawn in an instant, and lastly she wore a second knife strapped to her left thigh. Her hair was always tied up in tight braids to keep it out of reach whenever she was in the field.

She knew that with all of this, combined with the thin scar that ran straight from her ear to her chin, she cut an intimidating figure. She wasn't single for the good of her health after all. She knew that the men she worked with were especially terrified of her and her reputation. _Oh well,_ she always told herself, _Fuck them, I don't want a man who scares so easily anyway._ Her mother had suggested that perhaps she should try softening up a bit, but Hermione had just scoffed, it would be a cold day in hell before she diminished herself for any man.

Despite all of this, Hermione knew that she looked damn good in her leathers. She filled them in all the right places, leggings clinging to toned thighs like a second skin, and just as comfortable. She _knew_ that she looked good, so why was she letting Malfoy piss her off and put her on the defensive?

“No that's not what I meant.” He coughed to clear his throat, shifting uncomfortably as he appeared to be fighting to regain his composure after his earlier outburst. “I only meant that I've never seen you in your field outfit before. You look good, Granger.” This last was said with his signature smirk fully in place as he ran his eyes over her figure in an exaggerated manner. Clearly he had recovered from his previous state of embarrassment.

She snorted, of course he would try to make her uncomfortable now. Well it wouldn't work, she had been one of the only two female Aurors in the corps for seven years. She was practically immune to male posturing and pigheadedness.

“Yeah? Well you look like shit Malfoy. Go home and get some sleep, so the rest of us can get back to doing our jobs” She said this calmly, arms folded over her chest as she ran her eyes over him in return, look of distaste clear upon her face.

She watched in satisfaction as the smirk dropped from his face, tips of his ears turning red with anger, jaw clenched tightly in irritation.

“You're a bitch Granger, no wonder you're still single. Even the weasel couldn't deal with it.”

Harry looked outraged on her behalf, and opened his mouth to defend her before he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of Hermione's deep belly laugh.

“Good one Malfoy. Heard from Astoria lately? God, you must be worse than you say I am. At least I never managed to run anyone out of the country.”

She noticed the slight swallow and downturn of his mouth as her words hit, and felt a twinge of guilt. She had heard from Daphne, the other female Auror, that he had taken the breakup pretty hard. She wondered if she had gone too far, letting her mouth run away from her again.

“At least I had a fiancée to run off, which is more than can be said for you. Tell me, did you cry when the weasel broke it off?”

No, definitely not too far. Arsehole. Unbothered by his comments, but unwilling to let him have the last word, she opened her mouth to respond before Harry finally stepped in.

“That's enough. Malfoy, get out of my office. I'll let you know if I hear anything, I promise. Hermione, you stay.”

Malfoy looked like he was considering arguing some more, but eventually offered the other man a stiff nod before marching out of the office, rage visible in every movement.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration as he sat down behind his desk, motioning for Hermione to sit in the comfortable purple chair on the opposite side.

“So much for leaving it all behind at school” he quipped with a raise of his eyebrow. Hermione flushed with embarrassment. It was true. Not five minutes earlier she had berated them for engaging in school yard squabbling, and then immediately proceeded to do exactly the same thing.

“Sorry. I didn't expect him to get under my skin like that,” she conceded with a grimace, “I think that's the first full conversation I've had with the man since his trial.” It definitely was; despite running in similar circles, their vastly different careers and general dislike for one another had meant that they hadn't had much cause to interact over the years.

“Well, I can't say it went well” Harry commented, trying to look stern despite the grin threatening to take over his features.

“No, I'd think not” she agreed with a laugh. This was one of the reasons she loved her job, the opportunity to work with her best friend and the small moments of camaraderie they shared. It would never have felt right to be too far away from him after spending so much time together during the war. It wasn't her primary reason for becoming an Auror, but it was definitely a significant perk.

“Anyway, I didn't call you in here to watch you tear Malfoy to shreds, as amusing as it was.” He flashed her an amused smile as he spoke.

“Oh really? Then why did you call my in here _boss?”_ She watched Harry redden at this. Only six months into his role as Head Auror he was uncomfortable with his newfound authority, and Hermione loved to poke fun at him for it. She found his aversion to leadership both endearing and ridiculous. The man was a natural born leader, and had taken to the job with little difficulty, despite having a six month old James at home to keep him busy at the time.

The smile dropped from his face and his tone turned serious as he answered. “Listen, we're trying to keep it quiet, but Malfoy's right. Not about Nott, but about the rest of it. Something is definitely going on. You know about the Flint and Pucey cases, yeah?”

“Yes, of course. Both just up and vanished without a trace? No belongings missing from either home or work, no activity on their Gringotts accounts. Also no signs of a struggle in either case, both believed to have disappeared from their places of business, two months apart. Suspected abduction, but no evidence to back it up?”

“You've done your research. Why am I not surprised?” he gave a low, humourless laugh as he reached into his desk drawer to grab a thick file stamped with the official seal of the DMLE.

“You know I love a good mystery,” she shot back with a grin, “If I wasn't working the raids in Manchester at the time I would've tried to wangle my way onto the case.”

“Well, you've got it.” Harry said with a straight face. “And we got another one last night, and no-one else assigned to the case has managed to dig up a single lead. I really need your help 'Mione. There's already been chatter that the department isn't trying as hard as they should to find these guys because they're former Slytherins.”

“That's ridiculous. Half of our ranks are bloody Slytherins. Not to mention the Head of the Department.” John Dawlish had taken the reigns of the DMLE after the war, much to the approval of both the general public and the Auror corps. He was a hard bastard, a seasoned Auror with over twenty years behind him, but clever as you like, and his understanding of the politics and inner workings involved in the role was unmatched. It was easy to see why the hat had sorted him into Slytherin.

“I know that Hermione, but you know what the public are like. And the fucking Prophet doesn't help matters any.” He scowled at the mention of the accursed publication.

“Up to their usual journalistic standards then?” Hermione quipped.

“Didn't you see it last week?” He asked incredulously.

“Of course not. You know I don't read that pile of mush. It's not even worth using as lining for Artemis' cage.” Artemis was a beautiful eagle owl Hermione had gifted herself four years ago when she had qualified as a Senior Auror.

Harry snorted at this “Right. How could I forget? Well anyway, now Cassius Warrington has gone missing and his wife is kicking up a stink and I really need you on this. The last thing we need are accusations of discrimination. Especially after the York incident.”

Ah, the York incident. What a shit-show. The incident that had made the department look like a bunch of incompetent thugs and ultimately cost Ron his career.

“Fucking Ron. You can't just go around beating up suspects. Especially when they turn out to be innocent.” Brian York had been the Slytherin son of a former Death Eater suspected of a string of robberies of apothecaries, mostly because of his role as night courier which made him the only person to have access to all of the crime scenes.

The reason it had been such a big case for the DMLE was because of the type of potions that had been stolen; Petrification Potion, nutrient potions, blood replenishers, and various rare ingredients that could be used for any number of hallucinogenic poisons. Not exactly an everyday combination. They were the type of potions typically recovered in human trafficking cases, and so they had put every effort into finding the perpetrator of the robberies so that they could lean on him to get to his superiors.

Brian had been their prime suspect, so they had assigned two Junior Aurors to bring him in for questioning, Ron and his partner Sam Lawson. When they had dragged him in he had been beaten within an inch of his life. With his orbital bone shattered, four broken ribs and a punctured lung, Ron's claims that he had 'resisted' didn't hold much water. To top it all off, it turned out that Brian had been with a Knockturn Alley girl on the night of two of the robberies. Once the press had caught wind of the situation, there was no saving Ron's career. He had been lucky to get away with a slap on the wrist and mandatory therapy rather than prison time. Regardless of that fact, Harry had been devastated to have to fire his best friend and brother-in-law one month into his new job.

Truthfully, Ron had never been a great Auror. He was too angry, too damaged by the war. Getting sacked might have been the best thing ever to have happened to him. In the five months since he had started seeing a Mind Healer and working in the shop with George he had slowly started to transform into himself again. Nowadays, she was able to catch glimpses of the boy who had once been her best friend emerge from behind the cloud of pain that had surrounded him for years. It was a good thing, but didn't change the fact that the publicity had blown their entire case, and there hadn't been any new leads since.

“I know,” Harry agreed, “But he's trying. And he is doing better Hermione.” He said this last part softly, with a hint of a question.

“I know he is, and I'm happy for him.” she said earnestly, before fixing a look of cold determination onto her face. “But hear me now Harry Potter. I will never want Ron back, no matter how many apology letters or lingering looks he sends my way. I forgive him, and he'll always be my friend. But that's it. If that's not enough for him, then we'll be nothing at all. And you can tell him that the next time he sends you around to put a good word in.”

Harry sighed sadly, but he could see that she was serious by the set of her jaw and the determined glare she sent his way. “Fine, I'll tell him. I just want you to be happy.”

“Well I am happy. I have a job that I love and am successful at. I have a lovely flat and a massively fat tabby cat to cuddle at night. I have lots of friends and a very full life, one that doesn't rely on Ron or anyone else to make it that way.” She finished her rant with a firm nod. She usually adored Harry for the way he constantly fussed over her like an interfering aunt, but she needed him to understand this. She could not be dragged into any more Ron drama, she'd had more than enough to last a lifetime.

“Okay, no more interfering in your love life, I get it!” Harry insisted with a smile, although they both knew damn well that was a lie. The day Harry stopped poking his nose where it didn't belong would be the day that he died.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Anyway, _getting back on topic_. I'll take the case, but I want to bring Greengrass in as well, you know she's good with stuff like this, and she was in Slytherin so she knows these guys, she might have some insight.”

“Sure. Whatever you need, just keep me updated.” Harry looked relieved as he handed over the file and stood up to dismiss her.

Hermione took the file and crossed the office, turning the handle to open the door only to find herself face to face once again with Draco Malfoy. She was about to start giving him what for about coming back so soon after she _specifically told him_ to go home and get some sleep, but something in his expression stopped her again. The usually cold grey eyes were wide and glazed with panic, his face a sickly grey and his hands shaking as he clutched a piece of parchment so tightly in his left hand that it was starting to crumple.

Instead of shouting, she silently ushered him into the office with a gentle press of her hand to his back. She got him to sit down in the chair she had previously occupied, and immediately set about fixing him a cup of sweet, strong tea laced liberally with calming draught from her own personal supply. She could recognise a panic attack when she saw one, and even if she hadn't had one of her own in over a year she still always made sure to have the little purple vial on hand should she need it.

Once she had managed to get him to drink half of the tea, his shakes had started to subside, and the foggy panic seemed to have cleared from his gaze. Harry watched on over all of this with concern, fetching the tea set as instructed by Hermione and generally hovering unhelpfully.

“Okay Malfoy,” she started gently, not wanting to startle him back into a panic, “What's happened that's got you in such a state.”

Her voice, mixed with the potion seemed to do the trick and he finally managed to answer. “Marcus. Marcus Flint, that is. He's... Well I'm not sure, but I was sent this. Here. I don't know if this is for real, or, or....”

Hermione took the now severely wrinkled parchment from his hand and read the letter, feeling a sense of growing concern with every line. “Malfoy, where did you get this?”

“It was on my desk.”

“At your office?” Harry asked sharply, noting the ambiguity in his answer.

He seemed hesitant but finally answered. “...No, it was on my desk at home”

“Okay, well this might be nothing,” Hermione said, not believing her own words even as she said them, “But we should send a couple of officers over there to give it the once over just in case.”

“Fine.” He replied tersely, clearly unhappy but understanding the necessity of the action.

“But Granger...” he seemed hesitant again, but pushed ahead, setting down his now empty cup before continuing. “I don't think this is nothing, There's a…. picture. It came with the letter.” He placed a hand in his left pocket, before producing a small muggle polaroid photo.

“Fuck.” Hermione swore, trying to fight the bile as she took in the sight. She handed the note and the photo over to Harry, who immediately went chalk white.

It was a photo of an extremely emaciated, obviously beaten and tortured Marcus Flint, only recognisable by the large tattoo of a collection of roses and thorny vines snaking around his right side. He was also clearly deceased, his sunken eyes dull and unseeing even in the photograph, with the word _Whore_ carved in large capital letters across his chest.

Hermione felt dread pool in her stomach as she read the letter again.

_Doc,_

_I didn't mean to kill him, but I'm not sorry that he's dead. I was trying to teach him, to show him what he was. He was a filthy, disgusting animal, and he needed to learn. I tried and tried and tried, but he couldn't see. How am I supposed to get closure when I can't make them see? How can_ I _make amends when_ they _refuse? I can't heal myself the way you said I can if I can't make them pay. But I'm trying I promise. Once they all see what they are I'll stop I swear. I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but you understand don't you doc? I know you do. You're the only one who ever understood._

_I'll be in touch again soon._

_All my love,_

_Tisiphone_

**A/N: Of we go! Let me know what you guys think. Thanks so much for reading** ,

**Til next time,**

**SJ**


	2. Safe as Houses

**Chapter 2: Safe as Houses**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any part, the characters and the HP universe all still belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. Last I checked. * sighs in disappointment ***

It had taken less than a day to find the body of Marcus Flint, propped up against the bins in an alleyway behind a seedy muggle pub in Aberdeen. It had been discovered by a young bartender when he had popped out for a smoke halfway through his eight hour shift. By some stroke of luck a squib detective assigned to the case had recognised his face from the Prophet and had called it in to the DMLE. There was no telling how long it would have taken them to track him down, or even to confirm that he was dead if he hadn't.

Hermione approached the steel doors at the end of the sterile corridor with a heavy heart. For all that he had been an arsehole, and as far as she could surmise had remained entrenched in blood-prejudice until the day he died, it didn't change the fact that a former schoolmate of hers had suffered a truly horrific death. No-one deserved that. If there was one thing that war had taught her it was the value of life, or at the very least a quick, clean death. The picture she had in her pocket told a depraved story of torture and hatred, but she was here to get the whole truth of it. All the gory details, as it were.

“Senior Auror Granger here to see the Medical Examiner.” Autopsies, even magically assisted ones, were a relatively new development for the wizarding world but had proved to be an invaluable asset in the solving of murder cases. The same could not be said of magical forensics, which were still in their infancy. The young assistant, who couldn't have been older than eighteen, nodded her head quickly with wide eyes and retreated to the back room at a near jog without a word. Hermione sighed. Even so many years after the war there were people who treated her like some sort of celebrity, and she found it tiresome. How Harry had dealt with it his entire life was a mystery to her. It explained his lashing out in fifth year at any rate.

“Ah, Auror Granger. You're early.” The man who approached her looked to be in his mid-to-late forties, squat and bald with a no-nonsense attitude and a permanent air of business about him.

“Mister Dolinski, nice to see you again. Yes, my apologies but my morning appointment finished up early. I hope I haven't put you out too much?” She shook his offered hand with a bright smile. Jan Dolinski was a stickler for good manners, and had a middle-aged man's weakness for pretty witches. It grated on her to play the part of sweet little girl, but there were only two MEs available to the entire department, so if you wanted any of your reports to be filed in a timely manner it paid to be on their good side. Unfortunately Hermione had burned that bridge with Laura Norman three years ago when she had pointed out a glaring mistake on a report that had almost cost the other witch her job.

_Well, who misses a massive stab wound on the back of a woman's thigh anyway? It's not like it was difficult to spot. Incompetent bint,_ Hermione thought bitterly as she fluttered her eyelashes at the man in front if her. For all his faults, at least no-one could accuse Dolinski of incompetence. The man was meticulous, and his reports were always flawless. For that reason, and that alone, Hermione flirted and flattered until the man was putty in her hands. She never had to wait longer than a day for _her_ results.

“Oh, no matter, always a pleasure to see you. Come along then and I'll show you what we've got.” The man bustled out of the room, mopping up the sweat from his forehead as he went with an off-white handkerchief.

The corpse, _Marcus_ , looked even worse in person than he had in the polaroid. His skin was an unnatural shade of grey, and his chest was littered with bruises all at various stages of healing. It was a horrific abstract of pain, a vivid pattern mirrored on his abdomen and upper thighs. The letters looked like they had been carved by hand into his pectorals, the jagged edges looking so similar to the ones on her own forearm. The only difference was that where hers read _mudblood,_ his read _whore._ He had obviously been starved and bound wherever he had been kept, the deep red burns on his wrist and the jutting collarbones telling their own tale.

“Okay, so from what I can tell he was kept captive for around six months. Bound, gagged and starved. We found a number of potions ingredients in his system, mostly used in nutritional potions. They were probably the only thing keeping him alive for so long. No sign of sexual assault. Multiple blunt force trauma injuries, bruising concentrated on the chest, abdomen and thighs. Likely done manually, without the use of magic.”

Hermione flinched unconsciously. That was unusual, most magicals would never take the time to beat someone with their own two hands. That could indicated a lot of rage, or worse, that the killer took pleasure in the victim's pain. “So what of any spell damage?” she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

“Slicing Hexes across the upper back, multiple healing spells, bone breakers, suffocation charms and traces of the Cruciatus.” Even the seasoned medical professional grimaced at this, but he pushed on regardless. “The healing spells were to repair broken bones mostly, and skull fractures. The open wounds on his back were left untreated, and were severely infected. The body is not made to sustain this type of torture Miss Granger. Primary cause of death in this case was heart failure. Obviously I'm ruling the manner of death as homicide.”

She choked back her horror and nodded grimly. “Thank you. Could you include that list of potion ingredients in your final report for me please?”

“Already done.” He waved his wand and summoned a file with the St. Mungo's seal on its front cover and handed it to her. Hermione couldn't entirely hide her surprise, usually the report would be written up and sent to the DMLE within twenty-four hours.

“I wanted you to have all of the information you needed before you left so that you could get started with your investigation. Whoever did this needs to be stopped.” She was taken aback at the emotion in the man's voice. Apparently this case had hit him particularly hard. She offered him her thanks and departed, determined to catch her killer, whoever could cause this kind of damage could not be allowed to roam free.

~,~,~

“Oh fuck! Yes, Drake don't stop!” Draco closed his eyes as he pounded her from behind, trying to focus on the feel of her hips in his hands and not the dead, lifeless eyes of his former Quidditch captain. Her high breathy moans instead of the purple bruises against stark white skin. The way his skin slapped against hers in place of the deep, jagged lines marring the skin of the young man he once called a friend.

His thrusting became frantic as he fought back the tears that threatened to overtake him, and he grabbed a fistful of red hair as he felt his approaching climax. He needed this, needed the few seconds of pure oblivion that only sex could give him. He pushed down the panic and the fear and the grief and rode her harder, the girls loud groans becoming white noise until finally, finally, he grunted his own release. He spilled himself inside her and felt the momentary bliss wash over him as he pulled out and collapsed onto the pillow beside her.

As a Mind Healer, he knew that sex as a coping mechanism wasn't the healthiest, but that it was definitely a far sight better than drugs or alcohol. He should know, he was intimately familiar with all kinds of vices. Still, it was a temporary reprieve from the now almost daily panic attacks and constant overwhelming horror he'd been experiencing all week since they'd found Flint's body. When he had looked at that photograph, it was like being right back in the war all over again. He'd sorely hoped that he'd seen his last murder victim at seventeen years old. Apparently that was too much to ask for.

Out of habit, he reached over to the warm body beside him and pulled her towards him, hugging her close. He placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart beat valiantly against her ribcage. He relaxed and allowed himself to inhale deeply, to breathe her in, the familiar scent of – _lavender?_

Shit. He felt Lisa-the-muggle tense up until he finally released her, mortified. For a minute, one glorious minute he had been with Astoria again. Holding her and drawing comfort from her the way he always used to. And she had lain soft and warm in his arms, loving him the way she always had. Well, until she hadn't, obviously.

“What the fuck is this then?” a familiar screeching voice sounded from the doorway.

_Granger?_

“I go away for one _fucking_ week for work, and this is what I come home to? You _bastard._ After everything I've done for us? My mother was right about you!”

Her voice sounded thick with emotion. Why was she crying? Draco furrowed his brow in confusion, his brain not yet fully re-emerged from its post-coital state. Lisa, it seemed, had no such trouble. She immediately leapt up from the bed and started dressing, frantically pulling on her yoga pants and hoodie.

“Drake you arsehole! You said you were single! I'm so sorry, I had no idea I swear.”

“Just go.” Granger was sobbing now, big, heaving sobs that sent fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't until he heard the flat door slam and saw the tears immediately stop that it started to dawn on him exactly what had happened. He took in her look of smug satisfaction and let out an angry huff.

“What the hell Granger? What was that for?”

She chuckled lightly. “I just felt like ruining your day. You know, just because I can? But I shouldn't have to explain that to you of all people Malfoy, that's your speciality.”

He jumped up out of bed, enraged. “You need to get over that shite. It was school. Get over it.”

“I am over it. That doesn't mean that I like you.” she said this cheerfully, as if they were old chums. It was downright creepy really. “And Malfoy, put some clothes on. We've got work to do.”

Double shit. He had been so pissed off he hadn't even realised that he was still naked. As if this day hadn't already been embarrassing enough. He grabbed a pillow from the unmade bed and swiftly covered his crotch, trying to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks and the amused smirk Granger was flashing his way. Merlin how he missed the days when he was the one doing all the smirking and ridiculing. They truly were simpler times.

“Don't worry, I'm sure its just cold in here. Meet me in the kitchen when you're better dressed” she said snottily before casually strolling out of the room, leaving him gaping indignantly in her wake.

~,~,~

“Okay, so we need to keep working through these patient files, look for anyone who had a problem specifically with Slytherins. They're probably our age, given the age of the missing men, and is likely angry and holding onto some kind of a grudge.”

Draco frowned uncomfortably. “I'm still not okay with this. My patients come to me for help, they trust me with their deepest secrets. They have the right to some privacy. This feels like a gross violation of that.”

“I know Malfoy, that's why we have the Classification Charm on all of the files. I won't be able to see any names, no personal details. Only your notes. This is a murder enquiry, we can't afford to indulge your suddenly impeccable morals.”

Hermione said this in a scathing tone, not believing for one moment that Malfoy could be truly concerned for his patients. She was sure that he was just being difficult. He had always been this way, anything to get out of doing some honest to goodness hard work. It was like third year all over again. How he ever got it together enough to become a Healer was beyond her.

Well, that wasn't entirely fair she supposed. From what she was able to discern, his notes were thorough and well considered. He appeared to have a deep understanding and empathy with his patients, and the work he was doing was unlike anything else she'd seen in the magical world. Not to mention, his success rate was phenomenal. But then again, one of his patients had also gone mental and started killing people, so swings and roundabouts really.

“Don't look at me like that Granger I'm serious. There's some extremely personal things in these files. How would you feel if someone read your diary? Because that's exactly what this is like.”

She scoffed. “I don't keep a-”

“Don't waste your time trying to pretend you're not the sort of person who keeps a diary, I won't believe you.” His bored tone as he read over the file in his hand grated on her. Still, she bit her tongue because, well, he wasn't wrong.

“Fine. I get it. But there's too many for you to get through on your own, and the killer could have another victim with them right now being tortured. I cannot stress this enough; time is of the essence here.”

He flinched at the word 'torture', trying to keep his breathing even as he was assaulted once again by images of purple bruises and jagged scars and dead eyes. Hermione eyed the man sitting across from her, noting the way his hands shook slightly, and the glazed look in his eyes she had seen once before. Clearly, he wasn't coping as well as he appeared to. Against her will, she felt a stab of sympathy for the man. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him if he was alright he seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head slightly.

“You're right. Lets just get through this. I'll stick the kettle on, we need coffee.”

She hummed her agreement and turned back to her own file, not wanting to make him feel any more awkward than he probably already did. She felt her eyes move over the page but couldn't force herself to focus. Her mind wandered back to her childish behaviour that morning. All of sudden, it didn't seem quite so amusing. Maybe he, like her, tended to use physical intimacy as a form of comfort. And she had taken that from him. Maybe he needed the escape. She might not like him, she found him to be an insufferable git most of the time in fact, but maybe it wouldn't damage her pride too much to give the man a break. She vowed to herself that she would try to do better at working with him going forward.

She raised her eyes from the report and surreptitiously observed him as he fixed their coffee. He used the instant stuff, a more expensive brand than the one she used granted, but she found herself surprised that he didn't have his kitchen fully decked out with one of those fancy espresso machines that Daphne was always going on about. He seemed fully immersed in his task, adding two sugars to one cup and stirring in the milk, leaving one black. She stared at him incredulously as he handed her the plain grey ceramic mug.

“How do you know how I take my coffee?”

He felt his cheeks heat. Fucking Granger. Why did she always have to be so bloody _observant?_

“I don't. Milk and two is pretty standard. It's not exactly groundbreaking detective work is it? Merlin, if that's what passes for brilliant insight in your book I worry for the outcome of this case.”

She smirked, that infuriating little smirk that told him she wasn't buying what he was selling.

“Have you been watching me Malfoy? Have a little crush do we?”

He gagged as he took a sip of his coffee. Not bloody likely.

“Don't flatter yourself. If I ever had caught myself staring at you and believe me I haven't, it would only be to marvel at the fact that one woman could possess so much hair.”

He was taken aback when her only response was to laugh, a loud wheezing laugh that seemed to shake her whole body.

“My hair, Malfoy, really?” she questioned between laughs. “After all these years you still go for the hair? You really need to get some new material.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle. “I could come up with something about your teeth if you like?” He shrugged casually as he said this, eliciting a fresh wave of giggles from the brunette. He was baffled to find himself enjoying the sound. He couldn't remember if he'd ever heard it before, but it was ridiculously charming. If only the rest of her matched that sound.

“What about my bookishness?”

“You could call me a ferret if you like? For old time's sake”

They continued to exchange childish barbs, finding them funny for the first time, He didn't know why, but somehow it felt like a small piece of the forgiveness he'd sorely craved. It felt a little bit cathartic, like they might finally be able to move on.

After a while, they finally settled down to work through the files when they were interrupted by an insistent tapping at the kitchen window. Knowing that it would be for Malfoy, Hermione ignored him as he rose to retrieve the letter. She felt like she was on the brink of a breakthrough, a tiny spark of a hint of an idea nudging at the edge of her consciousness, not quite strong enough to make it to the tip of her tongue. She was lost in thought, trying to figure out what it was on the page that had jumped out at her when she was torn abruptly away from it by a loud crash. It was Malfoy, letter in hand, smashed coffee cup at his feet.

“Fuck. _Fuck!_ What the actual fuck?” He sounded like he was in physical pain, eyes brimming with frustrated tears as he took in the words on the page in front of him.

“Malfoy?” Hermione asked warily, not wanting to upset him any further. “Draco? What is it?”

He wordlessly handed her the letter before turning away to grip the marble effect worktop, allowing his tears to fall silently where she couldn't see them.

It was another letter. The writing was all in block capitals, splotchy black ink on what looked like scrap parchment. It resembled the first in every way, right down to the odd, informal salutation.

_Doc,_

_I did this one on purpose. I gave him chance after chance but he wouldn't learn. He thought he could lie and sneak, that he could outfox me but I showed him. I showed him what he was, and now everyone will see. I know now that this is how I can get closure. With every dirty beast I take off the streets, I can heal the rift in my soul. I am going to get them all. I won't stop until every one of them has paid. I know that this isn't what you had in mind for me, but now that I'm showing you what they are, you understand. I know you do. It's only justice._

_All my love._

_Tisiphone_

Hermione blinked for a few seconds, unsure what to make of it. The letter was rambling, bordering on nonsensical. It swung between angry and pleading from one line to the next, and didn't seem to serve any real purpose. She supposed the letters could be intended as an explanation, a plea for understanding and forgiveness. If that were the case though, the meaning was frustratingly vague. It could just be the killer's way of ensuring that someone found the bodies, that someone would receive the message they were trying to send with the deaths, whatever it may be. This second explanation felt slightly more right to her, but it still wasn't perfect. She felt that familiar itching sensation in her brain that meant she was still missing a piece of the puzzle.

She shook her head, sighing as she pulled a charm-sealed evidence bag from her magically expanded pocket. “Was there a picture with this one, or just the letter?”

“Yes, there was a picture.” He spoke quietly, voice barely above a whisper. She felt her heart ache as she heard the weariness behind his words. The defeated quality of it reminded her of Harry in the months following the war. He had always sounded so haunted, so old and tired that he physically wilted under the weight of the dark cloud he carried around with him. She had hoped never to hear that voice again, but here it was, slipping from the lips of her childhood tormentor.

“I'm sorry Malfoy, you shouldn't have had to see that. Do you know who it is?”

He let another tear fall, still refusing to turn around and face her, isolating himself in his grief as he always had.

“Yeah. It's Cassius Warrington.”

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. This was going to be a difficult one. The man's wife had been eight months pregnant when he'd gone missing and she'd given birth to her son alone two days later. Now the boy would never get a chance to know his father. Poor Pansy. She never thought she'd see that day where she felt sorry for the prissy pureblood princess, but this kind of news was terrible to hear at any time, but it would be infinitely worse having a week-old baby to content with.

“Did you recognise the place where he was d- left?” She had almost used the word _dumped_ , forgetting for a moment that Malfoy was a civilian, and that her use of that particular phrase might not be appreciated.

He let out a humourless laugh. “I'd say so. There's not a witch or wizard in Britain who wouldn't. He's in the alleyway between the Leaky and Diagon Alley.”

She snapped into action immediately upon hearing his words. She couldn't let some unsuspecting person or family stumble across a mutilated corpse on their way to do some Saturday shopping. She quickly exited the kitchen into the hallway, sending out her little otter Patronus to alert Harry to the situation.

When she returned, Malfoy was sitting at the kitchen table, fresh cup of coffee in had, hard expression on his face as he glared at the small, square photograph in front of him. She crossed the room, taking the photograph and placing it in a bag of it own, wincing again at the words carved into the man's chest. She wondered if she would ever stop being horrified as she took in the black jagged edges. If she did, she vowed to herself she would quit the Auror corps.

This time, the letters spelled the word _Bitch._ Just like the first message, it was an odd choice for a male victim. She filed the information away in her mind for examination at a later date, sitting down beside Malfoy and sipping her coffee without tasting it as she waited patiently for confirmation of the corpse's identity.

It came through less than ten minutes later, Harry's solemn voice emanating from the beautiful silvery stag.

“It's him. It's Warrington. I'm tied up here at the scene, I need you to notify the widow.”

Hermione felt an uncomfortable, sickening sensation settle in her gut. It was the same every time she had to do this, the very worst part of her job. She hated meeting with families, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to soften the blow. There was no manual on the right way to do it, no books that could offer her some magical, pain-free way to inform someone their loved one had been murdered. She felt helpless, and sorry, and just plain sad. She hung her head and took a fortifying breath before standing up to take her leave.

“Can I come with you? Pansy's my friend. I don't want her to be alone.”

She had neither the strength or the energy to argue protocol with him at that moment, and more than that she knew that she would feel the same if it were Harry. She nodded her head and held out her hand for him to take. With heavy hearts and weighty sighs, they disapparated.

~,~,~

Draco felt the day press down upon him, smothering him as he floated around his bedroom at a glacial pace. He couldn't focus on any one thing, instead opting to pack by grabbing the first items of clothing that came to hand. He had just stuffed the ugly mustard coloured jumper his Grandma Malfoy had gifted him for his nineteenth birthday, the he was sure he'd never worn, into his suitcase when Hermione entered the room. The look of sympathy in her eyes should have irritated him. Any other day he despised all forms of pity, but today was not a normal day.

He could still hear Pansy's wounded cries from when she heard the news. He was sure he'd never stop hearing them. He would forever be haunted by the distressed caterwauling of the baby as Pansy begged them to take him away. She insisted that he looked too much like his father, that it was too painful.

It had been like torture. Only two days before, she had been in love with her new son, blissfully happy despite the undercurrent of stress and sadness that her husband wasn't there to share it with her. The poor little lad had been through so much and he didn't even have a name yet, Pansy had been waiting so that she and Cassius could name him together. He found himself fighting back tears as they had handed the boy over to Mrs. Parkinson who had promised to keep watch over him until Pansy was strong enough to do it herself.

They had spent over three hours at Warrington Manor, only leaving after Potter had sent his Patronus again, summoning them back to his flat. _He was being summoned to his own flat._ Bloody presumptuous Gryffindors.

He had wanted nothing more than to have a quick shower and then fall into bed, putting the whole horrible day behind him. However, it wasn't to be. They had been informed by the Head Arsehole that it had been decided that he was to be moved to a safe house due to the killer's _special interest_ in him. So now he was packing up his things to go Merlin knows where, and he would have to get Blishwick to come in off annual leave to cover his clients for the foreseeable future because he wasn't allowed to go into work either.

“Malfoy, why don't you let me do that. You've had a long day, you should go and get yourself a cuppa.”

From nowhere, the fog lifted and he found himself suddenly furious, the unfairness of the day coursing through his veins like fiendfyre.

“ _Have a cuppa?_ That's your advice? My friend are dying all around me you daft cow! They're dying and their killer is sending me creepy little love notes. In one day I've lost my home, my job and a good friend and you tell me to sit down and have a cup of tea? Stick it up your arse Granger!”

She looked at him blankly, refusing to rise to the bait. She walked over to the bed, upending the suitcase and starting to sort through his clothes as if he'd never spoken at all. He wanted to scream, and rage, and stamp his damn feet until she was forced to look in his direction. _Why won't she just fucking fight with me?_

He snatched the shirt she was folding from her hands. “Don't have anything to say?”

She sighed, lifting another shirt from the pile. “Fine. Don't have a cuppa. What do you want me to say?”

He growled, snatching the next shirt from her hands, getting in her face. “Say something useful. I thought you were supposed to be smart. What is the point of you if the best you can come up with is ' _Have some tea'_?”

She kept her face carefully neutral, but he could see that angry spark start to form behind her eyes. _Success._

“No response? That makes a change. Usually I can't get you to keep your big gob shut. Why so quiet Granger?” He didn't know what was driving him to act this way, but he knew that for the first time today he felt like he was in control of himself, and he wasn't about to give that up now.

Hermione, it seemed, had finally had enough. “Fuck off you immature wanker. I'm trying to be nice here. I'm trying to be a friend, to let you work all of your considerable bile out of your system, but you just keep pushing.” She was staring him down now, hand firmly on her hip.

“You know what I think Malfoy?” she mused.

He quirked one eyebrow, “Oh please, do tell. I'm sure it's fascinating.” This was said in as sarcastic a manner as he could muster. He was spoiling for a fight and he wouldn't stop until he got one.

“I think you like fighting with me. I think you like the way I get your blood up. I think it's been shitty day and you're acting like this because you want something from me.”

The smirk dropped from his face, an angry scowl taking its place. “and what exactly is it that you think I want from you?”

She took a step closer, almost nose to nose with him, an odd glint in her eye. “I don't know. You tell me.”

The air around them seemed to thicken, some unspoken energy passing between them. It was electric and terrifying and exciting all at once. He felt his breath hitch, all of his former bravado abandoned. He watched the way her chest was rising and falling, mesmerised. He leaned in, closing his eyes, pursing his lips until they pressed against.... _what?_

She had slapped one hand over his mouth, and when he looked up her eyes were filled with laughter, a wicked grin fixed upon her face. _Oh Merlin! What the hell am I doing? This is Granger!_ He was mortified, feeling his cheeks flush as she lowered her hand, giggling.

“Nice try lover boy, but I have zero interest in becoming your second bed warmer in less than twenty-four hours.”

He was momentarily startled. Surely it hadn't been just that morning that she has scared Lisa-the-muggle away? He felt like so much had changed since then. He let out a tired groan, running one hand through his increasingly dishevelled hair.

“Oh Circe, I'm sorry Granger. I don't even know why I said all of that. And about when I-”

She cut him off with a laugh, that annoyingly endearing laugh again. “Malfoy, stop. Don't worry yourself, It's been an extremely weird day and I think we both could use some sleep.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn't shattered their newfound truce with his juvenile behaviour. They finished packing in silence, exchanging small smiles as they went.

He started to think, maybe for the first time, that he might like to have Hermione Granger for a friend.

**A/N: Another one finished! Let me know what you guys think.**

**Til next time,**

**SJ**


End file.
